


Small Victories

by halcyon_autumn



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Honestly it's just angst, It's mostly about Natasha and Bucky, but it's a little bit about all of Natasha's relationships during Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 16:57:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyon_autumn/pseuds/halcyon_autumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony lived. Natasha was glad of that at least, as the Winter Soldier pinned her down and tried to choke her to death. Her vision was going fuzzy and she could feel metal fingers crushing her neck, so her situation seemed a bit less hopeful. Her last air went selfishly – “you could at least recognize me” – because maybe, maybe she’d done enough good to merit that one tiny admission. Days later when she allowed herself time to process, she noted that he’d knocked everyone else aside but actively tried to kill her. </p><p>How flattering. </p><p>Natasha Romanoff makes choices based on logic, not emotion, but that doesn't mean that she's emotionless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Victories

When she heard that the Winter Solder was on a rampage in the Berlin headquarters, Natasha felt her throat catch. When he walked into the room, she allowed herself a few seconds to note his stride, the focus in his eyes, the glacial certainty with which he moved, and thought _I wonder how much of that people see in me._

She almost expected Tony to die in those first few seconds. They had a hastily thrown together plan, and Tony was a genius, but without the suit he was a god rendered mortal. She was already running as Tony grappled with him, already calculating and planning and suffocating the part of her that wanted to scream _not again. Wasn’t once enough?_

Tony lived. Natasha was glad of that at least, as the Winter Soldier pinned her down and tried to choke her to death. Her vision was going fuzzy and she could feel metal fingers crushing her neck, so her situation seemed a bit less hopeful. Her last air went selfishly – “you could at least _recognize_ me” – because maybe, maybe she’d done enough good to merit that one tiny admission. Days later when she allowed herself time to process, she noted that he’d knocked everyone else aside but actively tried to kill her.

How flattering.

Perhaps the Winter Soldier did remember her. She was pretty damn sure that Bucky Barnes didn’t. If he did, he’d kept his mouth shut around Steve. The fight in the airport hangar wasn’t exactly optimal for assessing anyone’s emotional status beyond “incredibly pissed” (or “mildly confused” in the case of that ant guy) but Steve wouldn’t have been able to hide knowing that she and Barnes had – even now she didn’t entirely remember. Just flashes and impressions and a bone deep certainty that she’d known and loved him.

When he and Tony yelled at each other while the teams tried to stare each other down, Natasha felt her chest ease, just a little, because he wasn’t yelling at her for betraying not just him, but his best friend. As he stared down the line, his eyes barely lingered on her. Good.

Natasha looked at Barnes and refused to dread what she might see on his face. His eyes tracked the team, calculating and planning with an expression similar to her own. Who would have thought that something so idiosyncratic would survive that many mind wipes? Later – always later, never in the moment – she wondered if he’d picked that up from her, or she from him.

The battle started, Wanda tossed her across the tarmac, and Natasha went to the quinjet to wait. This was the strategy, and the staggering amount of trust placed in her made Natasha a little sick; they really didn’t think that she’d betray them. It was entirely possible that not a single person on either side would trust her after this. Natasha didn’t like that, but she’d grown up among girls who routinely killed each other. In comparison, her friends never trusting her again was nothing.

Well, not nothing. Natasha thought about how she wouldn’t hear about Lilah’s first day of second grade, the fury on Wanda’s face as Natasha flew away from Clint, and disgust on Steve’s face when she told him that signing the accords put them in the most strategic position. She thought of all this, let it roll over her and join the ocean of regret already inside of her. It was something, but at least it wasn’t something new.

When Steve arrived, Barnes trailing behind like an uncertain dog, Natasha let them take the jet. It was not for the sake of either man, though she loved them both in different ways. T’Challa snarled at her from the ground as they flew away. “ _Why_?” he hissed.

“I’ve seen the world break before,” she told him, and thought of aliens against a blue sky and the Triskelion crumbling in the Potomac, hospital fires and men begging for their lives in Russian. “Those two will break it again if they continue on like this.”

T’Challa was too angry to argue, which she appreciated. It was terrifying to take morality into her own hands, to decide for herself instead of latching onto someone else’s sense of right and wrong. For so long it had been Clint or Fury or Steve, people whose moral compasses always pointed north. And now it was just her, Widow Bites buzzing, stopping a man she knew was better than her from doing what he thought was right.

After that she went to ground – the UN was out for blood, though that wasn’t much of a threat after years as the KGB’s most wanted. It was an inconvenience, however, and Natasha disappeared behind iron-clad covers and the best fake IDs on the market. There was a safehouse in northern Manitoba where she could hide and reassess for a few days. It wasn’t particularly well stocked, so Natasha made a can of almost-out-of-date Campbell’s soup and curled up on the couch. Only there, with the world’s eyes focused on recent breakouts from the Raft, could Natasha finally admit to herself that she was relieved to not have shot Barnes. She would have. Every time they’d fought, she’d fought to kill, and she didn’t regret it.

Natasha did not expect any sort of mercy or goodwill from the universe, because she hadn’t earned any. Steve had, and Clint and Sam and Wanda, and even Tony. But not her. So this tiny mercy felt immense, liking hoping for a single star and instead being presented with the entire night sky. She would have shot him. She would have killed him. She hadn’t had to.

Nearly every government in the world was looking for her, and no one she cared about trusted her, and a man she’d loved once either didn’t remember her or refused to acknowledge her existence. But he wasn’t dead by her hand, wasn’t dead at all, and she’d stood in an airplane hangar and made what she truly believed was the right choice.

All in all, she decided, it still counted as a victory.

 


End file.
